


Into Your Precious Head

by FeathersMcStrange



Category: Animorphs (TV), Animorphs - Katherine A. Applegate
Genre: Alternative NaNoWriMo, Brothers, Gen, Mind Control, NaNoWriMo, Threats of Violence, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2014-11-02
Packaged: 2018-02-23 20:29:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2554583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeathersMcStrange/pseuds/FeathersMcStrange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That thing walking around wearing his face and talking to his family is not him. But he's still there. He's watching the whole thing.</p>
<p>As hard as he tries, Tom does not remember what the last thing he said to Jake was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Into Your Precious Head

**Author's Note:**

> Alternative NaNoWriMo - One drabble fic each day of November inspired by a Radical Face song.
> 
> November 1 - Wrapped In Piano Strings
> 
> No part of a book ever messed me up quite the way that Tom Berenson did. This being the result.

> _They cut your eyes wide open_  
>  _And pour into your precious head  
> _ _My reach don't go that far dear  
> _ _But please oh please don't let them in_
> 
> _\- Radical Face, 'Wrapped In Piano Strings_

He can’t remember the last thing he said to Jake, that morning before they left for school. He had to be in early to turn in some project and Jake was sitting at the kitchen table with impressively messy hair and eyes still half closed with sleep. A few words must have been exchanged as he ran out the door, jacket halfway on and backpack dangling from one shoulder, but Tom can’t remember what they were.

Of all the things Tom could be worried about, this is probably one of the most trivial, but something about it unsettles him greatly. There isn’t much to do when you’re locked inside your own head. Especially after he stopped fighting it.

(He had wanted to keep fighting, wanted to fight as long and hard as he could, until there wasn’t a single piece of himself left to fight with, but he had to think about Jake.)

The thing in his head talks to him. Taunts him. Tells him what it could do to Jake if it wanted, how easy it would be to strangle the boy with Tom’s strong hands, hands he has no control over. It talks to Jake in Tom’s voice, says things about school and about their parents, and Tom feels sick. He wants to scream at the thing to get away from his kid brother, but it just laughs, tells him ‘ _one good shove and he goes right down those stairs tell me, human, how do you think it would feel to stand here and watch him fall_ ’, and says aloud, “See you later, Jake.”

Tom feels sick, as much as he can feel anything anymore.

He imagines a conversation with Jake sometimes, imagines apologizing to the kid for abandoning him, for following a pretty girl to the Sharing and getting himself infested, for not protecting him the way older siblings are supposed to protect the younger ones.

Tom imagines telling Jake to never stop fighting, to never give into them. ‘Never let them into your head, squirt, in the figurative or the literal sense, hang onto who you are and give ‘em hell.’

The days get longer and longer and it feels like none of it will ever end, and slowly Tom resigns himself to the fact that he’s never going to be free of them. He’ll live as a passive observer to his own life, to the atrocities committed by a thing wearing his face, until the day he dies, and he won’t ever get the chance to hug his parents or tell Jake he’s sorry.

The years pass just as he knows they will, people die and live and break and put themselves back together, and Tom watches his hands deal destruction and pain, unable to do a thing to stop it. He still sometimes tries to think back to what the last thing he said to Jake was, that morning it all started.

He never does remember.

…

_The morning had a normal, if rushed, feel to it. Tom had an assignment to turn in to his math teacher, already several days overdue. He had to get it in before school that morning or else his grade would drop five percent._   _Jake was groaning about some history assignment he didn’t understand, about how unfair the teacher was, playing favorites and taking sides. Tom was only half listening, downing cereal and a glass of orange juice in record time, already running late._

_“Tell you what, I’ll help you with it when I get home from the new club, okay?” Tom called over his shoulder as he rushed for the door, looking back briefly as he pulled it open. Flashed a grin at his brother. “See you tonight, Jake.”_

_The door had closed behind him before Jake could respond._


End file.
